Better
by Melody Phoenix
Summary: Super short S9 one-shot, Dean's thoughts as TFW kicks back in the bunker. May contain: beer, Shawshank, and hope.


**AN:** Hello! I've been reading SPN fics for a while, but this is my first time writing one. It's a super short one-shot set in early season 9, shortly after the angels fell. In this scenario though, Sam was never possessed (though he had an extended stay in the hospital) and Cas is living in the bunker (as he _should have_ dammit).

I'm thinking about writing more of these, so let me know what you think!

Not for the first time that night, Dean got up from his spot on the couch to grab a beer. He returned to the den with three and passed two off to Sam and Cas, who were less enthusiastic about the beverages but took them anyway. Dean, however, dropped back into the cushions with a satisfied sigh and took a swig, returning his attention back to… what was this again? One of Sam's chick flicks from Netflix or something. No, wait… Shawshank Redemption. Honestly his mind hadn't been on the movie for at least two beers now.

Abbadon was dead and Crowley was in the wind once again. Who the hell knew what Metatron was up to… because outside their concrete home, a world had ended. That must have been what the angels felt, anyway. They had been ripped from their home and thrown to Earth, confused and pissed, and were now probably taking up vessels as fast as Dean was downing his beer.

But at that moment, the angels could wait. The whole world could wait a little longer, long enough for the trio to get their feet back under them, because right now Dean's priorities were in the bunker. It had been nearly two weeks since Sam was released from the hospital, and he still slept nearly 11 hours a day. He still sported dark circles under his eyes, which were duller than they should've been. He tried covering up the exhaustion but it was written in every move he made. In every cup of coffee and tablet of aspirin, Sam hid the remainder of the Trials.

Cas barely spoke at all, other than to ask how the brothers were doing. Dean couldn't imagine what the angel- er, ex-angel, was going through. The transition from Angel of the Lord to the slap in the face that was being human couldn't be easy. He'd seen Cas deal with highs and lows, but Dean could tell he wasn't ready to accept his humanity yet. Even in the dark room he looked worn out, with messy hair and too-big pajama bottoms and a t-shirt Dean had loaned him. He wasn't sleeping well either, and had to be reminded to eat. He started keeping himself busy by organizing more of the Men of Letters' collection, but Dean suspected he was doing it more to be useful than for the entertainment value.

It made Dean feel even more guilty about feeling _good_ for once. While he was content with sitting down and watching movies while they recovered from this latest hit, letting the world turn chaotically around them for once, his closest friends were drowning in the wake of their good intentions.

But while Sam was still practically hibernating, Dean hadn't heard evidence of nightmares in a while. The dark circles beneath his eyes might have been a shade lighter, and a tiny Morgan Freeman shone in hazel eyes that appeared a little bit brighter. The coffee cup had been empty since noon, replaced by a sipped-on beer in his brother's hand.

Cas discovered the glory that was microwave burritos, and had asked where they were kept. Dean made a mental note to stock up on them on his next supply run, as well as take the ex-angel clothes shopping. Dean had taught him how to use a razor, so his peach fuzz was more controlled than the day before. And while organizing one day he had stumbled across some old novels, which Sam geeked out over. He'd convinced Cas to try them, and even loaned him a few more from his own collection. Now Cas was found less often going through the archives and more often lying on the couch with a book in his hand.

Meanwhile the God Squad was dusting themselves off outside the bunker doors, on the hunt for a graceless angel. But that angel was busy eating burritos.

Meanwhile Crowley was out there regaining control of Hell, and most likely had the Winchesters placed high on his shit list once again. But the boys were busy drinking beer.

So while the world was raging on around them, Team Free Will wasn't in a hurry to get swept up in the storm this time. They were not good; god knew they were far from good. But as Dean sat with the two people he would give his life for, he was content with the knowledge that for now they would be okay.

No, they were not good. But they were better.


End file.
